Tag Archives: Food

I Need a Shammich.

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Doodle loves shammiches – like, more than most things in the world. Probably more than my cookies, which is really quite incredible, because he ADORES my cookies…

My cookies.

My cookies.

It’s really difficult to get him to accept any meal as an alternative when he has his mind set on a shammich. Jake is a dad more lenient than I am, and will often just make him a shammich whenever it’s requested. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, 2 minutes before night-night – it does not matter, Jake is happy to get in there and whip up Dad’s Special PB&J.

I have nothing specifically against shammiches. They’re super quick and easy, and they fill Doodle right up. I do, however, recognize that they don’t exactly provide Doodle with a varied diet and I don’t want to go through four loaves of bread a day – that just makes for really awkward grocery shopping…

Anyway, so I made us all a green smoothie this morning, and Doodle wanted “food breakfast” after he was done. That’s cool. “What do you want to eat, bud? Cereal? Eggs? Yogurt?”

“Nope. A shammich.”

“Dude, you can’t have a sandwich for breakfast.”

“But I want a shammich breakfast.”

“Maybe you can have a sandwich for lunch, but what do you want for breakfast?”

“I want lunch.”

Touché.  Ok – so I had to figure out how to stop this and give him something he’d actually eat.  I decided, well, I suppose a sandwich doesn’t necessarily need to involve bread, and behold, my latest and greatest invention…

Pancake Shammiches!

Pancake shammich with peanut butter and bananas

Ok, so I’m sure pancake sandwiches have been around for a while. In fact, I’m fully aware that at the very least McDonald’s had it before me. But, at least Doodle got his shammich and I got him to eat breakfast food for breakfast…

So then, at 10:30 this morning, he stubbed his toe (or stepped on something, or the dog stepped on him, or somehow the end of the world was occurring on his foot) and he ran hobbled over to me to kiss it. Well, my kiss wasn’t enough so he ran hobbled over to Jake for some “Daddy Magic.” Apparently that wasn’t good enough either, because he continued sobbing for a few more minutes. That’s when it happened…

“Mommy, I need to rest.”

“Ok, go lay on the couch and rest.”

“No, I need to rest my bed.”

“Uh… Ok? Go upstairs and rest.” (Mind you, Doodle does NOT appreciate naptime, not even a little, and has NEVER initiated the naptime sequence.)

“I need you put blanket on me?”

Baffled, I followed him upstairs, turned on his nightlight and fan, covered him up, and closed his door. 3 hours before naptime. And he went to sleep. What in the world was that about???

So then, Doodle woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (his foot was “feeling much better, thanks”) and was all sorts of energetic. He’s a big fan of instruments and music…

Yep, that’s an elephant costume. Yep, he’s playing it like a French horn. No, he’s never actually played (or even seen in person) a French horn, but from what we can tell so far it is his very favorite instrument in the entire world.

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Whistle While We Bake

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So, I’ve been hanging out with my Doodle and his cousin all morning.  Jake has a friend who has recently been battling brain cancer, so we’re going to a fundraiser for him tonight and I’m bringing some baked goodies.  My little shadows are “helping” me by getting far too close to the oven, trying to get in between me and the counter, begging for muffins and cookies, and taste testing everything to make sure it’s good to bring to the fundraiser.

Now, I’ve been working on expanding my baking horizons the past several years, but there are two things I’ve been terrified of – cakes and brownies from scratch.  Not that they’re that ultimately hard, I just really hate failing at something and wasting a whole bunch of ingredients.  So, as I’m making my usual cookies and muffins, I decide to go for bad on brownies.  I make everything exactly as the recipe says (which is remarkable, as I’m always tinkering with some directions) then I put them in the pan and go for bad.  Only, I realize about 10 minutes after they should be done and they’re still gooey in the middle that the directions called for a 9×9 pan and I only have an 8×8.  I thought it looked a little thick.  :/  So once the middle was done, I pull it out to cool and all around them is crazy burnt.  Now, I’m not only out brownies for the fundraiser, but I need to make something else to fill the brownies’ place…  hmm…

I give you, applesauce muffins.  🙂  I started with a recipe here, but I can never leave well enough alone, so here’s my version:

1 cup butter, melted (so much easier to mix than softened, just make sure it’s cooled so you don’t cook the eggs!)
2 cups sugar
2 eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla (the original tsp just didn’t feel like enough for 2 dozen)
2 cups applesauce
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt (I just had to throw it in there!  What kind of recipe doesn’t have salt!?)
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon pumpkin spice (I did not have allspice, so my go-to combo of all wonderful fall spices was my solution)
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
A whole bunch of coarse sugar (I use Sugar in the Raw) and more cinnamon

Preheat the oven to 375.  You won’t be cooking at this temp, but you’ll see why!

Cream together butter and sugar, mix in eggs and vanilla, then mix in applesauce.

In separate bowl, mix flour, baking soda, and measured spices.

Combine your wet and dry ingredients just until mixed.  I’ve learned the hard way several times not to overmix muffin/quick bread batter if you don’t like eating hockey pucks.  :/

Fill almost completely your lined or greased muffin tin, then sprinkle about 1/4 teaspoon of the coarse sugar/cinnamon combo on top of each of them.

Put them in the oven, and immediately turn the temp down to 350.  This will help give them that beautiful dome and that wonderful fluffy texture.  🙂  This recipe should make you 2 dozen perfect muffins that you can’t stop eating.  First time I made them, I hauled off on 4 not 10 minutes after they came out of the oven.  Oops!

Here they are, all wrapped up and ready to go raise funds and make bellies happy!  Must resist eating them!

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What is He Thinking?

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I love my husband. I’m amazed that he wants me home with our Doodle while he labors 40 hours a week making just barely enough for us to pay the bills. I’m amazed that he doesn’t mind coming home to toys still strewn about the house even though Doodle’s been sleeping for 3 hours. He’s not even upset when he has to pull a dirty dish out of the fully loaded dishwasher and wash it by hand because I totally spaced pushing the darn start button. Seriously, awesome catch on my part, but what the heck is he thinking?

I’m not all bad. I try my darndest to make him wonderful chickeny and beefy foods, tasty snacks, and delicious sweets, and apparently I’m not half bad at most of it. At least, that’s what he tells me. But my husband will eat anything. Anything. And he really doesn’t like to hurt my feelings. The very first time I ever made him chicken, it took about ten times of me asking him if it’s good or if there’s anything he wants me to do differently for him to tell me it was actually really dry. I have no idea! I can’t taste it before I serve it. I don’t know how to cook this stuff, what it looks like when it’s done. All I know is that I feel like there’s salmonella on every surface in the kitchen!

So aside from me being a dutiful wife cooking meaty goodness for my hubby regardless of my own vegetarian diet, I mean, what else is left in being a housewife/stay-at-home-mama? I keep Doodle alive, so I guess that’s a plus.

But like, the dishes, ugh I hate dishes! It’s not even the dishes that I hate. It’s the gross ones that sit in the sink. The marinade of used food particles on them as they await loading. I know I could use gloves, but I always forget about gloves, so I never use gloves. So I try to just keep up on putting clean dishes away, that way we can just throw our dirty ones in the dishwasher and forgo the whole marinade bit. But man oh man, if I forget to put away dishes for even half a day, or if I make the mistake of cooking and dirtying up a whole bunch of new dishes while the dishwasher is going, does that sink fill up fast or what! Then my lack of motivation to do it starts to snowball along with the gross factor, and after another day or two, I’m just crazy overwhelmed and we’re all out of clean plates, forks, and coffee cups.

Then there’s laundry… with the three of us, we get about two loads a week, so it really shouldn’t be a big deal at all for me to get everything done. So I start a nice Saturday or Sunday morning with a load of Jake’s and Doodle’s clothes in the wash. If I at least get those done, Jake will have nice clean clothes to get him through the work week, and Doodle won’t look like a homeless child or stay in pajamas all day everyday, right? So I get those washed, and with my motivation in full swing I throw them in the dryer and get my clothes and the towels started in the wash. Then, I don’t know, I guess I just forget. I forget that the guys’ clothes need to be put away, forget that mine need to be dried, just forget that I was ever even doing laundry in the first place.

I can’t count the amount of times that I fluff those darn clothes in the dryer so that Jake doesn’t go to work looking like he slept in the car. Each time I figure I’ll be able to get everything out and put away. Then I remember that I’m still wearing my pajamas and I realize it’s because my clothes have been sitting in the washer this whole time. Oh man! So then I restart the washer, throw another All Small and Mighty pack in there, and hope that I remember to finish my clothes. This happens every other week or so. Seriously, I don’t understand why I can’t just do my freaking laundry when I set out to do it!

Now, we’re not altogether “messy” people. I mean, Doodle’s really good about putting away his toys and books most of the time, and we don’t really accumulate things in our living areas, so it’s never really needing to be picked up or anything, but I think that having a dog is really bad for my vacuuming. She doesn’t shed a lot, and we don’t track a lot or dirt or debris in or anything, but we do have a two-year-old. Food gets thrown, drinks get spilled, stuff happens. But my goodness, if it’s edible, there’s Ash, perfectly happy to clean up the mess. So I don’t really see too much food particle stuff on the floor, what may remain kind of just blends into the carpet. Until, of course, I get down to wrestle with Doodle on the floor and realize what I’ve been terribly neglecting… Then I remember to vacuum about two or three days later… Oops…

So, other than the occasional meal that I throw together for my hubby and the breathing child there to greet him when he gets home, I’m not really sure what he thinks I do all day while he works. I mean, I do something, right? Somehow I’m exhausted at the end of the day. Somehow I’m ecstatic on his days off so I can have some help. But what is it that’s wearing me out? What do I need help for? What do I actually do? And why is he ok with me doing it while he’s the only one “working”?

Please Just Swallow Your Food!

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Oh, Doodle. I recognize that he’s in a relatively normal development stage of not wanting to eat a darn thing I put in front of him – unless it’s some of my amazing baked goods, we’ll share recipes another day. I mean, seriously, this little man used to eat flippin’ anything. I mean from the grossest of gross to amazingly tasty, any fruit, veggie, grain, hunk of meat, anything you put in front of him he would devour as though it was the biggest, most delicious cookie on the planet. But, seriously, this new not eating real food bit that he’s in is going to make me lose all of my hair.

Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, exaggerating the situation a bit… He does eat some. And I guess I’m luckier than some in that he actually adores green beans. But how long can a two-year-old live off pizza, macaroni and cheese, and peanut butter sandwiches!? Anything else I feed him, any actual “meal” foods at least, gets completely untouched. Not even tried a little bit.

“I don’ wike it!” Just try it, Doodle, it’s really good. “No, I done. Cookie pease?” Perhaps if you finish your dinner we can discuss a cookie. “I DONE! I wanna pway!”

Then, there’s my absolute favorite part! (By favorite, I really hope you can grasp how incredibly UN-favorite it is.) My son, my adorable little Doodle, has somehow turned into a chipmunk. He’s so clever, you see. He knows I don’t want him taking another bite of something when there’s already food in his mouth, so he figures I won’t badger him into eating more until he swallows. Just, in true chipmunk form, he doesn’t. He makes about three or four solid chews – just enough to give it the right amount of mush – and shoves it in his cheek. I mean, for hours this kid will hold it there. Hours! I’ve sat with him bugging him the whole time, I’ve dangled cookies or other tasty treats in front of him, I’ve completely left the vicinity and ignored him, I’ve let him out of his chair to roam around hoping that at some point he might subconsciously swallow. Seriously, nothing will get this little man to give.

What’s weird to me is – ok, I’ll start with I’m a big texture person. It’s a lot of the reason I don’t eat meat. I don’t like crunch in my soft, soggy in my smooth, mush in my crisp. The texture of the main component in my food is the one that I want to be consistent. Except a few exceptions like Cheesy Gordita Crunches or struessel topping on a muffin… mmm, muffins… anyway, so what I don’t get is if there’s a certain foodage that I don’t want to eat, it’s probably either a taste or a texture thing. Either way, putting it in my mouth and chewing it up even slightly would offer me a sense of each of those. If at any time I didn’t like one of those two aspects, I would stop effing eating it. And I wouldn’t think even for a minute to keep it in a nice little pocket in my mouth as a constant reminder of how incredibly awful it was. So why then does my chipmunk-Doodle want to savour for as long as he possibly can everything he doesn’t like?

Things that he used to live for, too. Things that most two year olds would kill for. Chicken nuggets, cheeseburgers, spaghetti, fish sticks, even French fries! It’s just a phase, everyone tells me. He’s just practicing his independence. Yeah, I freaking know that, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating.